Help Me, Peter Parker, You're My Only Hope
by ThanksIllPass
Summary: Wade needs Peter's help


"Psst! Yoo-hoo! Amazing Spider-Man! Up here!"

Peter almost hit the building he was currently slinging between. Up on the rooftop, a hooded figure was waving at him, beckoning him. What the hell? He crawled up the building and landed on the rooftop to see no one else than Deadpool wearing a hoodie over his costume. Master assassin, his ass.

"What do you want, Deadpool?" Peter asked, crossing his arms, not bothering to hide suspicion in his voice.

"Why so cold, Spidey?" Wade pouted. "And, nothing bad, I promise, I'm not here for business. Not really for pleasure either, if you know what I mean."

Peter decided against dignifying it with an answer and he tapped his foot impatiently. Deadpool visibly deflated and sighed.

"I need your help," he admitted.

"And _why_ would I help you?" Peter asked with an amused chuckle.

"Because, um, I _asked_ you? Isn't it what you do? Help people who ask for it?"

"You don't see me giving Doc Oc a hand just because he asked my help in taking over the world, do you?"

"Well, yeah, but I thought it was because he already had eight of them? Plenty of people needing your hands way more than him? And does he really aim that high? I always thought he was pretty lame time-waster. And did he really ask? Like, did he offer-"

"Deadpool!" Peter snapped. He _really_ didn't have time for Deadpool's jokes.

"What? Did I count wrong? Does he have six hands? Twelve? Man, octopi are so confusing…"

"Octopuses."

"What?"

"Octopuses, not _octopi_."

"But… cactus, cacti…"

"I don't have time for this," Peter sighed, turning around to walk away. "Get out of my city before I kick you out myself."

"But I need your help! You forgot already? I know we got sidetracked because you started talking about your villain and- Wait a minute. Is this what this is about? I'm not one of the bad guys!"

Peter laughed. "You aren't? Since when?"

Deadpool tensed and straightened his back. Peter didn't feel his spidey-sense tingle, but he guarded his posture against a possible attack anyway. Deadpool was pure chaos, you could never be too careful with him. But Wade only smiled sweetly and started to walk away, waving goodbye carelessly

"You're gonna help me, Spidey, you just don't know it yet."

—-

Peter knew he shouldn't have brushed off those words that easily. And he was absolutely sure about that when three days later he walked into his kitchen to get a glass of water, to find Deadpool crouching in his window.

"Peter Parker. Early twenties. Single. Only living relative: May Parker. Occupation: freelance photographer at Daily Bugle. Secret identity: Spider-Man. Did I miss something?"

"Yeah, the part where I kill you!" Peter snapped and threw his empty glass at Deadpool. Wade dodged it and it shattered on the windowsill. Before Peter knew it, Deadpool was behind him, digging a gun into the back of his head.

"Now, now, Spidey, we all know you _don't_ kill, which is a terrible shame, because in my humble, but highly professional mind you, opinion, you would be great at it," Deadpool said coldly and Peter gritted his teeth. "Now I'm gonna put the gun down, and we're gonna talk, alright? Nod your cute little head if you're okay with this plan and, please, don't try anything funny, you're way too pretty to die. And let's be honest, it's my healing factor aided by my lack of moral values and guns that, you know, _kill_, against your Spidey Fu held back by your MLP pajama pants and fundamentally good heart."

Peter closed his eyes and swallowed before nodding, swearing to himself he would get Deadpool for it. As soon as he got rid of those embarrassing pj's. He turned around and saw Wade put his gun on the table. He was just about to say screw you to his own morals, grab the gun and shoot Deadpool in the dick just to watch him wail in agony, but he thought better of it. It was not the time to be spiteful and reckless, too much was on stake. He looked at Deadpool with cold eyes and he could see his mouth stretch into a wide grin under his mask.

"What do you want, you _cockroach_?" he seethed.

"Aw, Spidey, ever the sweet-talker. Mind putting a shirt on? I can't concentrate."

"Not my problem. What. Do. You. Want."

"Geez, relax, Petey! Can I call you Petey? I'm gonna call you Petey. Can you, ugh, can you turn around? No! Don't turn around, that would be even worse. Oh man, can you please, just put a shirt on?"

Peter's eyes widened in surprise. Deadpool was not simply babbling like he usually did, he was_nervous_. His voice and his hands were shaking and he was looking anywhere but at Peter, like he was embarrassed. Huh. Interesting.

"Fine," he sighed and went to the living room to pick a t-shirt from the floor. He went back to the kitchen and made a show of putting it on. "Happy now?"

"No, not really, but I know it's for the greater good. I will be rewarded in heaven."

Peter snorted. "Is that what they call mental institutions now?"

"You're really not a nice guy, are you?" Wade said with a pout.

"I'm actually kind of an asshole, especially to people I don't like."

"The internet _lies_."

"You don't say. Now are you gonna tell me what you want or what?"

"A beer would be nice…"

Peter blinked as Wade slumped down on the kitchen chair, putting his elbows on the table and taking his head into his hands. He couldn't believe this was happening. Deadpool just broke into his apartment, held him at gunpoint, and then asked for a beer. A _beer_. Was this man ever serious? Like, ever? Peter couldn't help but sit down too, resting his head on the table. He was exhausted.

"Why are you even here, Wade?" he mumbled into the table. "You're not even gonna blackmail me? Say not to try to screw you over because one of your people will hurt my aunt or make info about me public if you don't call every hour?"

Deadpool giggled and Peter could feel the vibrations though the table. "That's actually pretty brilliant."

Peter groaned. "Did you even _have_ a backup plan when you came here, or did you just _believe_ I'd agree to help you this time?"

"Are you sure you wanna find out?"

"I wanna find out what you want."

"I tried to tell you before, you just didn't want to listen to me."

Peter sighed. That was true enough. He lifted his head and rested his chin on his hands, mirroring Wade's position, and they looked at each other for a while. Deadpool was the first one to avert his eyes, releasing a pathetic helpless whimper and letting his head rest on the table. He seemed pretty defeated for someone who theoretically had the upper-hand in their current situation. Peter couldn't help but get intrigued.

"Tell me now. I'll listen this time."

Deadpool snapped his head up and Peter could see an overjoyed grin through his mask. Oh, boy.

—-

"No. Nope. No way. Never. No. Just. No."

"But-"

"No, Wade. No. I'd rather the whole world knew I'm Spider-Man."

"What about Aunt May?"

"I just talked to her on the phone, you moron, you were here, I already know she's fine. And as soon as you leave, which is going to happen in a minute, I'll go to her house and guard her like she is the fucking president. Good riddance, Wade, let's not meet again.

Wade suddenly fell on his knees before Peter, clutching at his hands. "Help me, Peter Parker, you're my only hope!"

Peter couldn't suppress a chuckle, even though he was an emotional wreck on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. Deadpool was asking the impossible. He couldn't do it. He didn't care if Wade would reveal his identity; he just couldn't do it.

"Peter, please. You gotta help me."

"You're a mercenary, and you can't die. You'll be fine."

"But getting tortured and experimented on still hurts!"

"I thought you said you didn't know what they wanted."

"I don't. I'm just assuming the worst to be pleasantly surprised or right later."

"Oh my god. You're a master assassin, Wade, how can you not know who's after you? It only took you three days to figure out who _I_ am!"

"I know! I know, but I don't know! All I know is that I've been on the run for a _month_! Isn't it enough proof that this is way bigger than me? It's bigger than any of us! I would go to the Avengers, but they hate me! Only you can help me, please!"

Peter groaned in frustration and looked at the ceiling. Wade's hands in his were shaking. Or maybe it was his hands that did. His head was spinning. He looked back at Deadpool's masked face, its lines, frozen in a distressed and helpless expression a moment ago, started to smoothen out and Wade smiled teasingly.

"Come on, baby boy. I'm seventy eight percent sure they don't know about you. And I'm hundred eleven percent sure that if they do, they won't think you agreed to help me. Like you said, you're kind of an asshole."

Peter released a quiet chuckle. There was something about Deadpool that made you laugh when you really just wanted to cry. He freed his hands and patted his face a few times to sober up. "Fine, you can sleep on the couch."

Wade whooped with joy and jumped to his feet. He grabbed Peter in the middle and squeezed him so hard Peter had trouble breathing. Then he lifted him off the ground and started dancing across the room, so Peter had to punch him in the head and force himself free.

—-

Having Deadpool for a freeloader (Peter refused to call him a roommate, no matter what sick fantasies Wade though he was having) for nearly two months was obviously and unsurprisingly a complete nightmare. First of all, he made a mess like you wouldn't believe it. He was loud, he didn't respect personal space, he ate but didn't cook, he slept all day and stayed up late at night. And the monstrosities he left in the _toilet_! He was literally a pig. And Peter wasn't a person who abused the word _literally_.

But he was company. And as much as it pained Peter to admit it, quite enjoyable company. Peter could relate to Wade's level of lameness when it came to jokes. He could definitely appreciate he was finally better at playing video games. And for someone who healed on his own ridiculously fast Wade sure know how to tend to wounds. He flirted with Aunt May over the phone and intimidated the landlord into fixing all the malfunctioning things in the apartment.

Still, one morning Peter decided to apply some discipline in this household, even if it would be the last thing he did. After he hauled Wade off the couch at eight in the morning and forced coffee down his throat, he demanded Wade cleaned the apartment when Peter was at work. Wade was outraged.

"I'm not your maid, Peter, _especially_ if you don't let me wear a French maid outfit!"

Peter groaned and threw his hands in the air. The _nerve_ of this guy. He grabbed Wade's cheeks and squished them until Wade's lips formed an eight, and brought their faces together.

"Wade. Listen to me very closely. You will clean the mess that you, you and no one else, made and you will do it wearing pants. Moreover, you will enjoy it. You will hum happy songs while you do it. You will think 'Gee, how lovely of Peter to let me clean after myself.' That's what and how you're gonna do. Are we clear?"

"Kfystaw."

"Good." Peter grabbed the Wade by the neck to haul him off the chair and slapped his ass. "Start with the bathroom."

He walked out of the apartment before Wade could turn around to avoid listening to Wade's protests. Or maybe to avoid looking him in the eye after he… Over the two months, they got… friendly. And they learned to be completely comfortable with and around each other in less than a month. Ironically, they just worked well together. So he just did it without thinking. But the way Wade's whole body tensed… It couldn't mean anything good. He looked at his hand as if it had mortally offended him, shook his head and started walking down the stairs. He would worry about it later. At least he didn't _grab_ it, right? Right?

Work was so busy he didn't really have time to think about anything else, but on his way home, he wondered. He wondered if Wade would act any different. He wondered if he'd cleaned their place. The! _The_ place. Jesus.

When he walked in, the apartment was spotless. He couldn't believe Wade did that. No, he _really_couldn't believe Wade did that. It had to be someone else.

"Peter! You're home!"

Peter cringed. No. No, please no. Let it be Wade modulating his voice, let it be Skrulls, just don't let it be- "Aunt May! What are you doing here?" Aunt May walked over to Peter and kissed his cheek before pinching his ear. "Ow! What was that for!"

"You know very well what! Poor Mr. Wilson survived the fire and you made him stay here alone and clean your mess?! That's not how we raised you!"

Peter was going to kill Wade. He smiled apologetically to Aunt May, but he was planning horrid, horrid things. Wade would pray for those after him to take him away from Peter.

"Well, I would love to stay for dinner, but I have to go visit Anna Watson."

"Dinner, what dinner?" Peter asked, more confused than ever. Aunt May smiled, patting his cheek, and she shouted a goodbye to Wade before leaving. "Wade? What dinner?"

Wade emerged from the kitchen and quickly ducked, so the bag Peter threw at him landed on the floor. Peter stormed into the kitchen with the intention of killing Wade, but when he saw a real home-made dinner at the table, his knees almost gave out. He sat down and stared at Wade in awe. Wade smiled sheepishly, which did weird things to him for some strange reason, so Peter cleared his throat and let out a shuddering sigh.

"I can't believe you lied to my aunt and made her cook dinner and clean my place. I just. Can't comprehend it. At all. It's beyond me. Human brains weren't designed for such levels of understanding. Trying to wrap my head around it is like staring into abyss."

Wade grumbled. "She called and said she was coming over, I had to tell her _something_… She would have dropped dead form a heart attack on the spot when she saw me if I didn't warn her beforehand. So I made up some tearful but believable backstory explaining this handsome face right here. And I didn't _make_ her, she _offered_. You know, like, she made me an offer I couldn't refuse? And I helped, promise! Don't worry, I didn't make you look bad, I told her you were so busy with work and taking care of me that you didn't have time to clean. She completely tore up when she found out you took me in after the tragic fire, free of charge, out of the goodness of your heart, so I actually scored you some brownie points with your auntie."

"She's my aunt, I don't _need_ to score brownie points with her."

"But it's nice to score them anyway!" Wade sing-songed and then sighed in defeat under Peter's unimpressed stare, digging his fork into his pasta.

Peter _was_ angry at Wade, but he knew May, and he knew that Wade would have to kill her to stop her. Besides, it had been a long day and he just wanted to eat a nice meal and rest a bit. He could let go this one time, couldn't he? "Did you help with the cooking too?"

Wade blinked a few times before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You want me to say no, don't you?"

—-

"So is this a date?" Wade asked, looking over the edge of the rooftop to look at the street. "Oh man, see that guy, the one in red hat? Totally a seven."

"What? No. Five and a half tops. He's too short. The lady in the blue dress? Eight. I said we'd go out, not actually _go out_, Wade."

"My point exactly. Why is dating called going out? You don't really have to go out on a date. And not every going out is a date. English doesn't make sense. I feel cheated by the society. I feel cheated by everything. I feel cheated by you, because Blue Dress is a ten. Just like the girl on the bike. Damn."

"Meh, I'd say nine, and just because she's a redhead. The woman with a baby – six. Why are you even mulling this over? Did you _think_ I asked you out? Out-out? Because no. We went out_side_. This is not a date."

"I know that now. but how was I supposed to know that before? Not that I _did_ think it was a date, but hypothetically, when one hears 'let's go out,' how do they know if the other person asks them out or out-out? Oh, you're generous. Three. Same as the guy in the tracksuit."

"I'm gonna give Tracksuit six, he may be kinda bald, but I like the muscle on him. Girl with a Spider-Man bag pack – ten, obviously. Well, you usually assess the possibility of the person asking you out being attracted to you, I guess? Are you saying it's _ambiguous_ whether or not I'm attracted to you?"

"Well, you did just give a solid six to a bald muscle man and a ten to a Spider-Man fangirl. Makes me wonder. I'm gonna give her-"

"I'm not," Peter interrupted. He could feel his cheeks getting hot and his hands starting to sweat. Wade wasn't supposed to think Peter found him attractive. That complicated things. He didn't want them complicated. They were perfect as they were. "I'm most definitely not attracted to you."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Wade laughed, moving away from the edge to sit down and look at Peter and smile teasingly. "Calm down, I get it, you're not attracted to me. It's not exactly some groundbreaking news for me. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't dig you either. But that shouldn't be a surprise."

Wade's voice was steady and playful but, from time to time, it seemed strained and forced. He got up and started walking away, seemingly nonchalantly, but Peter knew he just wanted an out of this conversation. Peter did not know what caused him to push instead of pulling back.

"Hey, I'm a _catch_, okay? I'm at least a seven and a half!"

"Sure you are. On Tralfamadore."

"Glad to see you doing your summer reading, but how about no. How am I not a seven and a half?"

Peter got up and started going after Wade. He didn't even know what he was doing. Why was he provoking Wade? A minute ago he didn't want Wade complicating their thing, and now he was doing exactly that? He couldn't understand his own actions, he couldn't understand what caused them. Pride? Spite? Something else entirely? He leveled with Wade and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look him in the eye. Instead, Wade gave him an obvious onceover, taking in the messy hair, nerdy glasses, baggy clothes and dirty sneakers. He smirked smugly and shrugged.

"You're a five Peter, at best. Nothing wrong with that, not everyone is blessed in the looks department. I would know."

Peter felt like he had been slapped. He felt his cheeks color, and not with embarrassment, no. He was furious. And not because Wade was his usual douchy self. Wade's words wouldn't anger him half this much if they weren't wrapped up in that false bravado, this fake attitude which Peter simply couldn't stand. He thought they were past that. He thought- "Oh yeah? And you're not even _on_ the scale! You're not even a half, you ugly bald asshole!"

If Peter felt like he had been slapped, Wade certainly looked like it. Peter covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes raking over Wade's face, looking for some other reaction – anger, disappointment, something other than pure _pain_. Nothing. He just fucked up big time. He fucked up like never before.

—-

"Gah!" Peter yelled, flailing his hands and somehow ending up on the ceiling, panting hard and looking around for danger. When he finally spotted it, it turned out to be Wade, currently rolling on the floor laughing. "Wade…" Peter sighed in relief and jumped back onto the bed. "What are you doing here, I almost had a heart attack."

Wade wheezed and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Oh man, sorry, but the look on your face, I can't breathe!" He rubbed his stomach and sat down next to Peter. He did his best to compose himself and looked at Peter. "We need to talk."

"God, Wade, can't it wait?" Peter asked with a whine, flopping down on the pillow. "And what's with the line, been watching cheap chick-flicks all night again?"

"No. I just. Look. I'm, uh. I'm gonna go."

"Yeah, great idea, we'll talk in the morning. Night."

"No, I'm gonna go. Like. Away. Back. Leave. Move out?"

Peter's eyes snapped open and he was suddenly more awake than ever. "Wait, what? Why? Is this about last week? I knew you were mad, I should have known that just because you didn't shoot me right in the head didn't mean you weren't hurt. Wade, I said I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Please. You have to believe me."

"I believe you, Petey," Wade said with a grin and stood up. "We both said things we didn't mean. You're totally a seven and I'm totally a two and a half, that's beside the point, forget it. It's not _about_ that."

"Then what?" Peter snapped, starting to panic a bit. Wade turned his head around and looked at Peter with confusion. His eyes softened after a while, but also… saddened?

"Nothing, it's just… this whole thing? This thing in general? It starts to look less like harboring a fugitive and more like domestic partnership, and I don't think y-"

"And what's wrong with that?" Peter seethed, and Wade looked at Peter more intensely than ever before. Peter could feel himself blush, but he didn't break the eye contact. As much as denying those…_feelings_ seemed like a good idea this whole time, the possibility of Wade just walking away and not coming back filled Peter with an irrational fear. "I though you liked it. I thought you liked me."

Wade blinked a few times and suddenly burst out laughing. Peter's eyes widened. His chest hurt like Wade had just pierced it with his katana. He felt such anger, such disappointment. Such betrayal. His fingers curled into fists around his bed sheets.

"Get out. Get. Out. Get out. Out. Out, now. Get your shit and get out. I hope you won't make it through a day out there. I hope I will never have to see you again. Get. Out."

Wade wasn't laughing anymore. He was smiling gently, gratefully even. And before Peter could realize that this reaction was all wrong, Wade was already gone. Peter jumped out of bed and went after him, hoping he could catch up before Wade left the building in got swallowed by the city. He bent over the handrail and spotted Wade at the ground floor.

"Wait!" he shouted.

Wade looked up, and Peter… jumped. His Spidey-sense went wild and he didn't know what was going on before he tried to use his web-shooter and realized he didn't have it. He felt panic rising in his gut and he tried to grab a baluster or a tread, but his hands were sweaty and slippery. He closed his eyes, because he couldn't even see anything through the tears anyway. Suddenly he felt strong arms wrapping around him and saving him from crashing.

"Shh, shh, you okay, Petey? What the hell were you thinking? Jesus Christ on a cracker, are you insane? Peter, are you okay? Answer me, damn it."

Peter couldn't hold back a sob as he wrapped his arms around Wade's neck and squeezed with all his strength. "Don't leave me."

"Shh, I'm not gonna leave you, silly. Come on, let's take you upstairs."

Peter grabbed Wade's face and forced him to meet his eyes. "No. Don't _leave_-leave me. As in, I _like_-like you. As in, I wanna go _out_-out. As in you're a _ten_, alright? No more of this bullshit. Because you have become my best friend and I've been an idiot and a liar who _lied_, and you were trying to _'do the right thing'_ when it was really the worst thing to do but- No more lies and games. Just truth, okay? Do. You. Want. This? Me? Us?"

Wade looked pained and confused, but so, so hopeful. Peter stroked his cheek and Wade leaned into it, closing his eyes. Peter smiled and smoothened the crease between Wade's eyebrows with his thumb.

"You're a ten too," Wade whispered, and Peter let out a soft chuckle. "Yes. I want this. I've always wanted it."

Peter got off Wade and stood on his own, taking Wade's hand in his. They had a lot to talk about, a lot to apologize for, a lot to think about, and a lot to make up for. But they would be fine. Peter just knew it. He squeezed Wade's hands and tugged it. He wanted to go back to _their_ apartment.

"Uh, b-baby b-boy?" Wade stammered in embarrassment, and Peter turned around, looking at him expectantly. "I suppose it's a, ah, it's a good time to tell you that, uh…"

"What is it, Wade?" Peter asked, worry creeping into his voice. "As sappy as it sounds, you can tell me anything…"

Wade closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "There wasn't any evil secret organization after me in the first place?"


End file.
